Bought by the Mafia Prince: His Hidden Queen

Chapter Four

“Raise my paddle. I’m buying number 16.” “Yes, Sir.”

His bodyguard left the room to bid outside with the rest of the guests.

“A hundred thousand credits!”

The whole place was silent. People looked in his direction, whispering: “A hundred thousand credits?” “Who is he?” “Is he mad?” “Even I don’t have that much money.”

The auctioneer cleared his throat. “He-he. A hundred thousand credits. Going once! Going twice! And—”

“Two hundred thousand credits!”

Everyone gasped and looked in the direction of the voice. Including the bodyguard. He placed his finger on his earpiece, saying, “Sir?” “Ese hijo de puta(that son of a b***h). Bid five hundred.” “Yes, Sir.”

“Going once, going twice.” “Five hundred thousand credits.”

The auctioneer was speechless. That was equal to five hundred million. He looked at Amelia in the cage, wondering the same as everyone else—why those two gentlemen were eager to buy her.

Amelia also looked at the bodyguard, wondering who he was and why he was willing to spend that much money on her.

“Ahem. Well. Going once! Going twice!” He looked in the other man’s direction, checking to see if he would bid. But when he didn’t notice any sign of him bidding, he continued. “And sold! Number 16 has been sold to the highest bidder at five hundred thousand credits!”

Why was he spending so much? Nobody spends this kind of money on a total stranger unless they expect something worth or more valuable in return.

Just then, one of the staff went to meet the bodyguard and took him to the back of the stage to get his prize. Amelia was placed in the corner of the room with a red cloth hung over the cage. As soon as it was lifted, Amelia made eye contact with the bodyguard.

So, he’s the one who bought me. Although it’s hard to take in the reality of me being sold, at least it’s better than staying here. But, looking at him, he doesn’t seem like someone who has that kind of money. Rather, he looks like the type to follow orders.

“Sir, the girl has been secured.” “Good. Bring her to the car. I’m already there.” “Yes, Sir.”

I knew it.

“Unlock the cage.”

The worker hesitated. “But, Sir, the rules are you have to take the cage with the person in it with you.”

What kind of twisted rule is that?

The bodyguard stared at him silently. “Unlock it.” “Sir, the rules—” “Are you refusing an order?” “No, Sir. But—”

He placed his hand on his gun and pointed it directly between the worker’s eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Open. The cage.”

With trembling hands, the worker unlocked the cage, bowed, and left immediately. Amelia watched as the worker literally ran away, leaving just the two of them in that space.

“Let us go.”

Her eyes snapped to his when he spoke. “Ah, yes, of course.”

She got out of the cage and stretched her limbs. I have been crouching for so long. At least I’m out of the cage now.

She followed him out of the building, but she stopped midway and looked back at the entrance. I wonder if I’ll see her again.

“Number 16. Let’s go.”

She looked back at him and hurried to keep up the pace.

They approached a sleek, armored black SUV, but suddenly, the air changed. It grew heavy. The bodyguard didn’t just open the door, his posture went completely rigid. He bowed his head, an involuntary twitch of raw submission that Amelia noticed instantly.

If this man is submitting like this, then the person inside must be more dangerous than I thought.

“Get in,” the bodyguard muttered.

Hesitating a little bit, she stepped into the back seat, with the door clicking shut behind her, sealing her into a cave of dark leather and expensive cedarwood. The interior was pitch black, save for the dim glow of the dashboard.

In the far corner of the seat sat a massive shadow. He didn’t move. Yet his presence demanded her absolute silence, and the question that had been sitting on her tongue disappeared before she could even ask it.

Amelia swallowed hard, her pulse hammering in her ears. She looked at him. He looks to be about six feet tall. His form is almost occupying two seats. Broad shoulders. And a scent of expensive cologne mixed with a faint smell of gunpowder. And a ring, with some sort of... crest?

“You’re staring.”

His voice rumbled from the dark. The sound was a deep baritone that vibrated right through the leather seats.

She looked away from him instantly, then noticed a bottle of water that was placed beside her. She hesitated. Is it a trap?

“Drink it.”

The man said, never taking his eyes from the window.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?” “Because I bought a person, not a corpse.”

She looked at the bottle and looked at his form again. But because she hadn’t eaten all day, she felt parched after seeing the water and decided to go ahead.

After some time, Amelia wanted to finally ask what had been weighing on her mind, and braced herself, forcing her voice not to shake. “You bought me. Why?”

The man finally turned his head. The passing streetlights swept across the interior, illuminating his sharp, aristocratic jaw lines and eyes as dark and cold as a winter sea. He leaned his head against the window, eyes watching her every expression.

From his perspective, she wasn’t just a girl. She was a puzzle. He watched her silver eyes reflect the dashboard light, darting in those precise, algorithmic patterns.

“I’m interested in you.”

Amelia’s brows shot up. “Ex—excuse me.”

He corrected smoothly. “I’m interested in your eyes. I watched you in that cage. You weren’t begging like the others to be picked. Instead, you were recording the security grid. You memorized the vault codes, didn’t you?”

Her breath hitched. Her deepest secret had been stripped bare by a mere stranger in no less than two minutes of meeting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know your name or who you are.”

The man let out a soft, dark chuckle that sent a shiver straight down her spine. He leaned back in his seat, crossing one tailored leg over the other, fading back into the shadows.

“You don’t need to know my name, principessa,” he said casually, the foreign word rolling off his tongue like velvet around steel. However, the underlying threat was razor-sharp. “In my world, names are earned. Right now, to me, you are just No. 16. And I am the man who owns your contract.”

He's Italian. Amelia stared at his silhouette, her mind frantically racing. He hadn’t given her a name, but he had given her a choice. He could have at least asked for my name instead. No. 16 just makes me feel more like an object, even though he literally just bought me.

“Work for me,” he continued, leaning forward just enough for her to see the cold glint in his eyes. “And your mind belongs to my famiglia now. Lie to me, principessa, and giuro su Dio—I swear to God—I’ll throw you right back to the auction house. And this time, you won’t be auctioned.”

Every instinct screamed at her to stay quiet. But a small part of her hated the way he spoke about owning her.

He leaned back into his seat, looking forward. “Choose wisely, principessa. The ride to my estate is exactly forty-five minutes long. So, I would advise you to think fast before it’s too late.”